


being in love on New Year's Eve

by PerfectSilence (hitomishiga)



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: F/F, Friendship/Love, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, fuckin gay ass teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitomishiga/pseuds/PerfectSilence
Summary: Watanabe Yō is in love and it just happens to be New Year's Eve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look I'm just so desperate . im so desperate. *rips off my chest to reveal the words C H I K A Y O U emblazoned on my skeleton,*

  
Chika kicks back her feet now that they’re completely alone. She nearly knocks over the bowl of oranges - Yō manages to stop it from tumbling and spilling squishy orange everywhere by a split second margin.

“What time is it?” Chika asks.

“Uh,” Yō dutifully checks the clock. Outside, people are still talking and cheering. The fireworks have finished for the time being. The Watanabe household doesn’t have the best view of them, anyway. “About two.”

“Guh.”

Chika sinks into the fort of pillows she’s set up for herself and Yō swallows back a chuckle as Chika’s frame begins to disappear, like quicksand. She starts to peel another orange, and offers some to Yō, who declines wordlessly. She changes the channel on the little TV on the kotatsu to some late night game show. The sound is tinny and the screen has a bit of static, but it’s almost become a ritual by this point, to hole themselves away in Yō’s room while the adults finish up and wait until sunrise.

“Yō-chan.” Chika’s voice is strained as if she’s making an effort to get up, which Yō knows is a bald faced lie. She’s holding the empty skin of an orange (already?!) and waving about like a ladies handkerchief. Yō clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, exaggeratedly.

“Chika-chan the bin is right over there,” she says.

“I’m stuck.”

“Really?”

“Help me up.”

Yō can see the tired bags under Chika’s eyes even as she waves her arms and grins toothily. It’s not like either of them are unused to spending a late night here and there, but things have been getting hectic recently, and with the idol club, suddenly Chika doesn’t have the spare time or energy she used to. Yō feels privileged in her own special way. Seeing Chika at her most vulnerable.

“Alright alright alright.” Yō sighs and grips Chika’s forearms tightly. They’re close. She forgets all about the TV now, seeing only Chika’s face, smeared with orange juice. Yō laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Chika pouts.

“Nothing, nothing,” Yō replies with a snort, “come on.”

With a bit of a heave and a grunt, Yō forcefully rips Chika from her pillow prison. She stumbles forward, into Yō’s arms. Flyaway wisps of hair tickles her nose. Literally all she can smell is oranges. (They will probably both pay for it in the morning, Chika more so).

Chika, for her part, just leans further into Yō’s torso, nearly bowling her over. Yō knows she’s just being a bit difficult, but she has to actively fight down the blush. “Yō-chan,” says Chika, “carry me.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Yō’s eyebrows shoot through the roof and she can practically feel her glasses fogging up.

“Carry meeeee…” Chika whines, irresistibly. Her tired voice is too much. “My legs are jelly.”

Yō almost combusts, but the chance for a bit of mischief quickly knocks aside those sort of thoughts. Swiftly and silently, she uses one foot to solidly chop the back of Chika’s knees. She goes down with a high pitched yelp. Before her legs really turn to jelly, Yō sweeps her hand behind Chika’s shoulders and hooks around under the knees in a bridal carry.

This is nothing, she thinks. Chika’s not that heavy to begin with and Yō has been lifting weights for years. When they were kids, Chika used to demand the same thing - pick me up, carry me, Yō-chan! - but Yō could barely lift Chika an inch off the ground.

“Oh, Yō-chan,” Chika purrs after her initial shock, “you’ve gotten so strong.”

Yō cocks a little smirk in response and lowers her voice in a pseudo-sultry mocking way. “So I can carry my lazy princess to the bin to throw away her scraps,” she returns in kind. Chika swats at her arm half heartedly, and her hand almost seems to linger on the skin of her bicep.

“No kidding…”

“Huh?”

“Yō-chan!” Chika says suddenly, train of thought disrupted by something. “Let me carry you!”

Yō smiles. “I don’t think that’s a - wait, Chika-chan-”

Before she can say another word, Chika squirms out of her arms and onto the floor, and then all but tackles Yō in her enthusiasm. This time, Yō lets out an unsightly squeak and her glasses slip right down her nose and off her face. Her first thought is, don’t you dare step on my glasses, Chika. Her second thought is, holy shit, Chika is carrying me.

She doesn’t look it, but Chika is actually quite strong. Not as strong as Yō, of course, but there’s a surprising amount of muscle hidden underneath that lackadaisical exterior. It’s not quite a bridal carry or anything - Yō has to wrap her legs around Chika’s waist so she doesn’t fall - but it’s incredibly intimate and close and wow Yō can count the faint faint dusting of freckles on Chika’s nose and she’s lost in the stars in her eyes and-

“God I love you so much,” she mutters without thinking. Regret. Oh god, why now, of all times, to suddenly lose her entire, minimal, impulse control?

“What?” Chika asks cluelessly. She didn’t hear. Good.

“You’ve made a mess of your face, mikan-head,” Yō says instead, and laughs as Chika does, a little sheepishly. She laughs so hard she loses balance completely and they both scream as they fall back onto Chika’s pillow fort which is much less like a fort and more like a cage. Or a loveseat. Hck.

“You’re too heavy, Yō-chaaan,” Chika whinges childishly, but Yō knows it’s all just a farce. She isn’t usually the whingeing type, not at all, but it _is_ late. Chika curls her arms around Yō’s and suddenly the temperature of the room increases by at _least_ five degrees. At _least_.

“Mm,” Yō hums, “maybe you should start training with me.”

She can feel Chika frown into the sleeve of her shirt. “Isn’t it already enough doing what we do for Aqours?”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Yō laughs. “… Or you could get up at dawn and run with Kanan every morning?”

“Yō-chan! You know that no actual human could do that!” Chika buries her face into the crook of Yō’s neck as Yō laughs harder, trying not to actually, physically, die. “… ‘Sides, you’re strong enough for the both of us…”

Yō doesn’t say anything to that. Not because she doesn’t agree. Maybe, selfishly, she _does_ want to be strong enough for the both of them. Maybe she _does_ want to play bad-stereotypical-husband to Chika’s bad-stereotypical-wife, sometimes. Maybe the thought of Chika being stronger than her scares her, not because Chika will be the one doing the carrying, but because she will be free to leave, whenever. To be the prince to any other girl out there.

Maybe that thought scares her into silence.

The clock ticks on and the game show ends, or something. Chika’s warmth is impenetrable.

“You’re strong enough for me,” Yō says out loud, at length. Her throat feels tight for some reason she can’t discern, and before she can take it back again she soldiers on. “You’ve always been my strong and reliable Chika-chan.”

Chika shuffles, maybe to look at Yō better. Yō just focuses on the ceiling. “My sisters never call me reliable,” Chika says, bemused.

“I’ve always relied on you.” Yō insists. She wonders if she’s breathing too loud. It’s not like this kind of confession (c-confession..?) is anything to be scared about. It’s nothing Yō hasn’t said or heard before. Maybe it’s the confusion in her chest that’s been going on for a long time now. Swirling emotions Mari likes to call ‘a crush’ or ‘love’ which Yō is no longer in any state to deny. Hasn’t been for a long while. Maybe those charged feelings warp the atmosphere into something intense, something intimate.

Something terrifying.

“I’ve always relied on you, too.” Chika mumbles. “I love you, Yō-chan.”

That’s it, isn’t it.

New year’s eve, in a decidedly unromantic atmosphere, nothing like the mangas said. No sparks. No sakura leaves. Just the old staticky TV and a hastily made pillow fort and a slightly broken AC and the delicate feelings of a teenager in love.

God, Yō thinks, screwing her eyes tight. I love you so much.

**Author's Note:**

> this was not me projecting my own gayness onto you I sw ea,r


End file.
